Finally
by perfectpro
Summary: Sonny is dead. She may not know it, but her world has just began to crumble. Kinda-sorta sequel to Understanding.


She can see it _all_ happening.

She _knows_ what's going on.

_No one_ tells her,

But she isn't _stupid_.

She _knows_ when something is happening.

She still looks down, just to make _sure_ no one forgot her.

But there's one person who she _knows_ hasn't forgotten her.

But she doesn't check up on _him_.

Because she knows that if she saw what he was like, she would blame _herself_.

New arrivals come to her sometimes.

Sometimes they are people she knows, and sometimes they aren't.

But they _all_ have the same message.

"He's not over you."

And for once, _just once_,

She wishes they wouldn't tell her _anything_ if that's all they're going to say.

Because she hates herself for causing him this much _pain_.

No one says that she did, but she can _hear_ the implying tone of voice they use.

After all, she's not _stupid_.

She knows that they don't hate her.

No one _hates_ a dead person.

But they are annoyed; because they know that she's _never_ looked down to see him.

But they don't ask _why_,

So she doesn't _answer_.

But if they did ask why, maybe they'd learn that she doesn't watch him because she knows that he is _hurt_, and she cannot _bear_ to see him that way.

Maybe they'd learn that she was _angry_ with him for _never_ forgetting her, but she _loved_ him all the same because of it.

Because no matter what, no one wants to be _forgotten_.

And she can see from her window another person approaching her home.

And she closes the shutters, because she knows what they are going to tell her.

And even though they mean well by it,

She heard it so many times that it's branded into her brain by this point.

And at this point of her being

_(Because we can't exactly call it a _life_)_

She just doesn't want to hear it anymore.

And even though the door is shut and the shutters are closed, that person comes and knocks on her door _anyways_.

And she sighs, knowing it is unavoidable, and opens the door.

The woman at the door is _beautiful_.

Her cheekbones are high, and hair looks like the sun does only a few minutes after it has risen.

It takes her a moment to look away from the woman's golden hair that seems to light up the room and look into the woman's eyes.

They are ice blue, but there is only warmth in them.

She _knows_ those eyes that the woman has.

She knows them like the back of her own hand, but she cannot _place_ them.

The woman smiles kindly and walks calmly into the room.

And as she stares at her, she knows that the woman is going to say something _different_ then everyone else has said to her.

The woman surveys the room for a moment, and then meets her eyes.

"Don't worry dear; he'll be coming here eventually too."

And then the woman steps out of the room, leaving her left behind in the smile that those words brought.

Because she knows that they are _true_, and that is all that matters.

::…::

As she steps out of her home, people step out of her way.

Some are _afraid_ of her.

Some are scared that she will break; they think she is _fragile_.

_Fragile_, she thinks strangely, clearing her head of blurry thoughts.

It's funny, because in all her life, she has _never_ been called fragile.

She is tough, and what's more is that she knows that she has been through more than many of them _combined_.

But she does not speak up, and she walks calmly through the crowd, like Moses parting the Red Sea.

Something _reminiscent_ of a smile shows itself on her face as she thinks of this.

But it is _not_ a complete smile, for in all her time here, her face has remained impassive for so long that it seems to have _forgotten_ how to smile.

It does not go unnoticed by the crowd watching her every move.

_Nothing_ goes unnoticed now, she notes.

_Everything_ has changed since her life began here.

People she knew came and spread the story.

Now they act as though she is a_ ticking time bomb_.

If she is, then she doesn't know how much time she has left.

But if she is about to explode, then she doesn't show it, for once the thought passes, her face goes back to the impassive mask that it has grown accustomed to.

She considers stopping and walking back to her home, but she can't avoid the rumors.

They've been circulating for a week now, it seems.

She doesn't believe them, but rumors always start off with the tiniest bit of truth to cling to in the beginning.

She is just setting off to find that piece of thread.

She does not let herself hope, because she knows that her dreams have been crushed for too long to spring back up now.

When she first came, she waited for him for a year where the new arrivals went when they came here.

And it was bittersweet everyday when he wouldn't show up.

Because he wasn't with her, but he was still living.

And she wouldn't dare check up on him.

Because she can't stand pain.

She knows that he can barely stand pain either.

So he must be going mad, she considers as she turns a corner.

Because she has been slowly driven insane since the accident too.

She almost laughs, but she has not done it for so long it seems as though she has forgotten how to make the sound so commonly associated with happiness.

She has laughed since she has been here, but it has been cold and bitter and harsh.

It has been the laugh of someone who has been through something you never want to experience.

And chances are, the laugher didn't want to experience it either.

She has heard stories passed down since she has been here.

Stories of soldiers from wars passed long ago.

Tales of war heroes gone through torture.

Legends of people who have died to save someone.

They all have their stories to tell.

As does she.

Their stories are filled with torture and agony and pain.

But hers is worse.

Their stories are over.

They don't have to wake up and still be living the story.

Her story is worse then any of them can imagine.

Because she doesn't have dreams anymore.

She has nightmares.

And when she wakes up (_if she can sleep at all_) she hates it,

Because she knows that the day will be another disappointment.

And she has had much too many disappointments then any girl her age.

She didn't notice at first.

She thought that everyone went through things like this.

But one day she looked in the mirror and tried to smile.

She couldn't.

That was when she realized that she was the only one living a nightmare in a world of dreams.

And somehow, that hurts the worst.

Because there is no one to share her pain with,

No one to truly understand.

Well, there is, she knows.

She just doesn't want to see him.

Because he is in pain, and she caused it.

And she hates herself for it.

So she doesn't look down.

::…::

Whispers rush around her as she approaches the place where newcomers come.

She hears snippets as they speak fast and in hushed words.

"She's here . . ."

"He's been wanting to see her . . ."

"Love never dies, even when . . ."

Then she hears something that makes her stop.

"Is it true?"

She wants to know the answer to this question oh so badly, but she dares not to get her hopes up only to be shot down to the ground.

"Is what true?"

And she lifts her eyes from the ground as her hears the response.

"All of it, of course."

And the other rushed whispers stop.

They too want to hear the answer.

"No one knows."

And the whispers pop up again, and she turns to face the wind.

It whips her hair behind her, and for a while she can remember things.

He always told her that she looked the best when she was facing the wind.

She asked if she looked beautiful all of the time and he smiled,

But didn't answer with words.

Instead he turned her towards the wind and laughed with her.

The memory is fresh in her mind now.

And as much as she hates it there, it won't go away.

And with it, other memories surface.

She shakes her head and turns away from the newcomers place.

And she runs home.

Because her hopes are high, and she doesn't feel like they should be crushed just yet.

So she runs quickly, her feet pounding against the pavement as though they've been doing it for years.

But they haven't.

It's just an illusion, much like her being.

Her indifferent mask is just that - a mask.

It's just there to hide her when she is hopeful.

And it's there to hide her when she angry.

It's there to hide her when she cries.

But with the mask in place, she doesn't cry.

::…::

They tell stories about her.

She knows.

After all, she isn't _stupid_.

And she most certainly is not _deaf_.

She knows what they say about her.

She has a cold heart.

But after what she's been through, who wouldn't?

She doesn't let anyone in.

But if you went through the same, would you?

She's never forgiven herself.

Why should she?

Her heart must have given out by now.

But it deserves a break, don't you agree?

She's pained by everything.

Of course she is. Aren't you?

But as she answers their questions in her head, she walks to the newcomers place.

She will enter it today.

She has some doubts, but they are small compared to her curiosity.

She runs down the streets, past the whispers and stares until she is waiting at the gate.

And without any reason, she begins to cry.

Because it hurts to hold onto a mask when reality is fading away, even if it is easier.

It has been ten years since she has cried.

She has existed in this place for ten long years.

And she has never shed a tear.

She has never cried for what she lost, or for what she kept

(_Which was little. You don't get to keep things in death._)

But crying is something that needs to be done twice a year, whether it is necessary or not.

She had forgotten that long ago.

But now she sits, crumpled under the gate where the newcomers are.

And she cannot stand, because the tears are falling harder then they have ever fell before.

She cannot stop them, but it's fine.

(_She doesn't want them to stop_.)

So she sits, curled up into her ball, sobbing because she has forgotten how to feel.

She cannot remember how to smile, and she cannot remember how to laugh with happiness.

But she is crying for her joys now, even though she has few.

She is crying because there is hope, and the woman is right.

Even if all of the rumors are wrong, eventually, he will come.

And when he does, she'll be right there waiting for him.

She knows that she doesn't have to.

If you look at the facts, she _shouldn't_.

But she _wants_ to. Oh, she so wants to.

And so she _will_.

Because in this being, you can do what you _want_ to do, and not what you _need_ to do.

She never learned the difference very well in _life_.

But with spending ten years contemplating that _one_ fact, she has learned the difference _exceptionally_ well for someone with her years.

Some call her that wise one as they pass.

Some call her a crazy lady whose dreams will never come to pass.

Some call her a dear soul who knows exactly how hard life can rip the rug out from underneath you.

But most don't call her anything at all. And when do, it's in hushed whispers, so no one knows what they're talking about.

But even though they whisper, she still knows.

She spent her life avoiding rumors.

It's ironic how the rumors that she hates the most come now that she is dead.

And what's more, is she can't stop them.

She doesn't want to be a recluse.

She loves being free of one area.

It's not that she hates recluses, it's just she could never be one herself.

Because she can't stand being confined to one area for the rest of her being.

After all, no one knows how much time they have here, or even if they leave once they come.

But she wants the rumors to stop.

No, she did not cheat on her old husband, James Conroy, with him.

And no, that's doesn't mean she didn't want to.

But she only says the first answer out loud.

She says the second answer in her head, where only she can hear it.

It's odd, she knows.

Because she always loved the musical _Chicago_.

But she was never able to understand how Roxie could marry someone she didn't love and then shoot someone who she thought loved her.

But now she knows why.

Because a last offer is sometimes the only offer you get, and sometimes people don't turn out to be who you thought they were.

And honestly, when you feel betrayed, it doesn't take much to pull a trigger.

But she loves one line that Roxie says in the movie.

"My only regret is that I only got to kill him once."

It always made her laugh when she heard that.

But now, she gets it.

Sometimes people ask her what her regrets are.

And she turns around with a small smile on her face as she said it.

"I only have one regret. And my one regret is that I don't have one."

She wouldn't have done anything differently if she had the chance.

Yes, she would have liked for things to have ended differently,

But she wouldn't have had the courage to turn James down when he proposed.

And she wouldn't have had the courage to tell Chad that she wished he was the groom and not the best man.

And she most definitely would not have had the courage to say something when the minister told her to speak now or forever hold her peace.

It's funny, she thinks as she stares at the newcomers gate.

For most people, their wedding is the happiest day of their life.

Her wedding day was when she kissed the possibility of Chad Dylan Cooper goodbye.

She told him goodbye, even if he doesn't know it.

But she told him goodbye.

She left him a note even.

She wonders if he ever figured that note out yet.

But he's had ten years; she figures that he must have gotten it by now.

She pushes open the gate.

Slowly at first, tentatively, because there is still a part of her that believes that if she looks away for long enough it will disappear, she pushes open the gate.

And finally she flings it open, panting because of the physical and emotional effort that it cost her.

"Where is he?" she asked breathlessly, and they point out the way.

They follow her, for they are curious too as to what will happen.

She sees him finally, and she thinks of laughing.

But instead she wrinkles her nose and marches up to him, her bare feet slamming down hard on the tile floor.

He looks up at her and his face changes from confused to elated.

But then he sees her expression.

And she begins to cry softly as she leans over him and hugs him softly.

He encircles her in his arms and they sit there holding one another until _crack!_

Her hand collides with his face and she stares blankly into his eyes.

"You never tried to fight for me," she states defiantly as she stands up and looks at him.

He is the same as she remembers; only aged.

And she has changed so much with the passing of time.

She has grown colder and more like stone with each passing day.

He cannot change this, and she doubts that he even notices.

"I always tried," he tells her softly as she stifles a sob.

"You didn't fight hard enough," she tells him as she motions to the wedding ring on her finger and walks away, her hair billowing behind her as she storms back to where she came from.

And when she is far too far away to hear, Chad Dylan Cooper whispers to the wind,

"I love you, isn't that enough?"

And he thinks the wind answers back, telling him that it was never enough.

He knows that it is right, and he goes back to hating himself for thinking that he had a shot with her even after he was dead.

He can hear someone's footsteps approaching as he wipes a tear from his eyes.

"Just because you love me doesn't mean that it's enough."

"What about 'til death do you part? It's already gone and done it! You can take off the ring now; it's okay!"

"You don't understand promises."

"Of course I understand promises! I make them all the time!"

"You break them as well."

"I never broke one promise to you!"

She sighs softly and shakes her head as she answers him.

"You're right. You broke every one of them. Forty eight in all."

She watches his mouth drop open slowly. He's right.

He didn't break one promise. He broke forty eight of them.

"Name one."

And her mouth curls up into a bittersweet smile as she remembers.

"You told me that I'd be yours forever. What happened, Chad?!"

He remembers making that promise now. He suddenly wishes he hadn't made so many promises in his life.

He is almost at a loss for words as she struggles to look through his internal dictionary. But as he turns page after page in it, he finds the right ones. Or at least, the ones that he thinks are right.

"I'm sorry."

"Good," she tells him simply as she turns on her heel and walks out, the sound of her feet slapping the floor as they walked on it stays in the room long after she does.

He is sorry, so terribly sorry that he lived his life in such an awful way.

He feels like he needs a break from life, but he's dead now.

This is about as big a break from life as he's ever going to get.

Love and being sorry aren't enough sometimes.

He loves her so much (_so, so much_), but now he realizes that loving her and being sorry for not being able to keep her isn't enough.

Life for him was simple (_mostly_), and now he has to pay for it in death.

He doesn't know this, but now her shoulders are shaking as she sobs quietly into the air where no one can hear her.

Because she knows she was right, but it hurts to tell the truth sometimes.

So maybe, just _maybe_, honesty isn't the best policy after all.

If she closes her eyes and focuses on him, just _him_, then she can forget everything that went wrong and if she is concentrating hard enough she can make everything seem right.

But it didn't go right (it all went _wrong_), and now she has to live with that.

So she makes her bed and lies in it, and listens to the Beatles.

Somewhere between "Hey, Jude" and "Yesterday," she fell asleep.

Someone knocks on her door in the early morning.

She sighs and gets up to begin her day, which now starts with this visitor.

And as she opens the door, he is standing there with that oh-so memorable smirk upon his lips and she wants to cry and laugh at the same time.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Sonny Monroe."

And as he says this, she grabs his faces and kisses him roughly. Suddenly, all of the years that they spend apart don't matter.

As he responds by chuckling against her mouth, he puts his hands against hers and slips something off of her finger.

That little gold band wasn't heard as it landed on the floor and rolled into the drain, gone forever.

It is just them in the world, and for once, they don't give a damn about what the rest of the world thinks.

As if the world even cared in the first place.


End file.
